


Today was not the day

by baby_worm



Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Non Gender Specific Reader, Paterson is Very Tender, Sad Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27074434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_worm/pseuds/baby_worm
Summary: Paterson is very sweet after you had a long day.
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Today was not the day

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this is really short and very similar to Hello Birdie but I wrote it when I was sad lol. Hope you enjoy it anyways <3 xoxo

You stood in the threshold of the doorway, rain dripping from the dangling threats of your coat. Your hair was frizzed, slightly disheveled by the wind that whipped at tender cheeks and cold, aching ears. The jingle of the keys summoned the gremlin that scampered from the kitchen, discharging sharp, excited barks at your arrival.

And today was not the day.

“Hello, Marvin,” you mumbled, shrugging off the soaked article from your shoulders. The door swung shut, causing a soft rumble through the house. The measured patter of even footsteps started at you from behind the basement door. Marvin sat himself proud in _his_ chair that was decked in patterned cloths.

“Honey, is that you?” Paterson emerged in a moment, sporting an admiral blue knitted sweater. His delighted grin fell solemn as his eyes met yours, smudged in mascara, eyelashes webbed in tears amidst the humidity of precipitation. “Birdie?”

“Hey, Pat,” you attempted, lips carved into a frail smile. Your eyes were wide, glassy, decorated in pink arrows of exhaustion.

You sniffed as he stepped closer, brushing wet baby hairs from the soft frame of your face. Your smile wobbled as more tears sprang anew. A punctuated sob jumped from your throat and you buried your face in your hands. Every measure of stimulation was too much to bear. There was nothing to be seen nor heard beyond your front door that would so heal a tired, wounded heart like weeping in a warm home.

Pat’s mouth popped open in silent, sympathetic awe and his hands flitted, his immediate reaction to be close to you. Hands hovered over you in hesitation, one coming to land gingerly on your shoulder. At the contact, you butted your forehead against his sternum in a tearful, wordless request. Quickly, he enveloped you in the wingspan of his safely, shielding you from unpredictable sensation with the soft cord-knit of his jumper.

“Oh, Bird,” he murmured into your hair in compassionate concern, accented with a kiss to your head before resting his cheek on you. Your hands, small against him, curled into the pliable fabric that clad his torso as you moaned a hiccuping sigh. The sound was muffled in the room, but the vibration of your grief rang through him, agonized him and made his stomach twist. He squeezed you tighter.

One flat hand rubbed attentively at your shoulder, “What do you need?”

You lingered, huffing tears into the valley of his chest. Shaking your head weakly, you pulled your weight from him and futilely wiping at still flowing tears. Defeat thudded in your pulse and your day flashed before your eyes. You cleared your throat and sniffled. “I-I don’t know, it’s all just too much.”

Pat wrenched your hands from your face, gently brushing slipping tears from hot cheeks. “Okay.” He assessed you as you kicked off your shoes, hands never leaving an arm, the side of your neck. He worked at the button of your slacks, throwing you off guard for a beat. But the alleviation from the ice cold touch of muddied ankles made you sigh, stepping forth over the hinderance to the warm embrace of your blue-swaddled bulwark.

Marvin hunched, grumbling at your shared proximity. You shot him a glossy eyed glare. He payed no heed.

Paterson leant down to help you out of them, petting the soft skin along the sides of your thighs with his thumbs.

“Will… can you just hold me?” you sniveled.

“Yeah, Bird,” He looked up to you and nodded slowly, caressing the back of your knee with his palm. “We can do that,” he breathed, intent earnest and confident in the way he pursed his lips.

Flicking a lock of hair from his eyes as he stood, he took your hand and guided you to the couch. Gingerly helping you into his lap, he pulled a royally soft throw from the arm and wrapped you in it snugly.

Settling into him, your chest expanded in controlled breaths in effort to mimic Pat’s. Thick, heavy arms came around you, engulfing you in a cocoon, severing your connection with the world as it was. The tinkling of Marvin’s collar as he trotted away was the only sound before a symphony surrounded you, sensation soothing the cracks in your sanity. The constant patter of rain cut through bellowing thunder. Warm hands stroked tracks over your shoulders, your sides. One hand held the base of your neck, pinning your head beneath his chin.

You breathed the subtle, clean scent of Paterson’s sweater. It smelled like him. Warm and musky and tender. The rumble of his voice made your body vibrate, even as you continued to settle, your breaths hiccuping between sniffles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he murmured into your hair.

You shuddered, looking for the right words but none came. Your mind was an empty jar, and you knocked against the butt of it with the heel of your palm, swiped at oxidized smears of articulation with the back of your nail. “…Not really.”

He kissed your forehead and slunk deeper into the couch. “Okay, Birdie.”


End file.
